


Two kisses, but keeping the one

by wordfrenzy (orphan_account)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bottom Steve, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Smut, Top Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 20:47:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2164641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/wordfrenzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is nineteen when he has his first kiss. He doesn't expect a second.</p><p>
  <i>He didn’t feel it, the incredible rush of sensation, so deep he should’ve felt it in his bones. It’s a feeling that shudders down the spine, digging its claws into him and never letting go. He didn’t feel it.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>It was because of Bucky.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two kisses, but keeping the one

**Author's Note:**

> A little bit of fun, fluffy stuff – with the touch of smut – which I hope you all enjoy. Got more Steve/Bucky stories to come, hopefully soon. (As well as the 3rd Chapter of my stony; I'll try and write it soon, but other ideas have consumed me, so my apologies.)
> 
> Thank you to nightingales for being my beta.
> 
> ~

Steve is nineteen when he has his first kiss.

It is stained red with lipstick, fumbling with inexperience. He isn’t sure where to put his hands or where even to start. His crush, Barbara, sighs, hauling him closer by the collar and parting both their mouths harshly. It’s wild, with too much tongue and a lack of enthusiasm, without enough care of what this could possibly mean. Steve is the one to break away, forced by the dry gasps that heave from his chest, scratching against his throat like sandpaper. The problem wasn’t how it was awkward, or the silence that followed, but —

He didn’t feel it, the incredible rush of sensation, so deep he should’ve felt it in his bones. It’s a feeling that shudders down the spine, digging its claws into him and never letting go. He didn’t feel it.

It was because of Bucky.

 

 

~

 

 

As he says goodbye to Barbara, with no future plans of a second date, he thinks of Bucky.

When Barbara had spoken eagerly about Coney Island during dinner, Steve had tried to subtly unstick his shirt from the cold sweat slicking his back and kept thinking about Bucky. His best friend crowded in on his thoughts. It was an unavoidable yet completely wrong thing to do. Ignorance might be bliss to some, though for Steve it was impossible.

The night is cold, biting at Steve’s skin. He stuffs his hands into his pockets, looking up at the murky sky, which is heavy with clouds despite it being night. When he reaches their apartment and manages to stick his key into the lock with shaky hands, he walks in to find that Bucky either hasn’t returned from work yet or did and found solace in a bar, in whiskey and smokes. Steve doesn’t mind — hell, it’s Bucky’s choice for what he does, even if that means walking in at two in the morning, the stench of alcohol and cheap perfume lurking behind him. There are teeth marks on his neck and he wears a grim smile that’s tight around the edges.

Steve slides into bed, knowing he won’t be able to sleep until Bucky comes in. He listens to his own wheezy breathing, an irreversible condition, along with a myriad of his other issues, ones that Bucky has to take care of now that Steve’s mother is gone. Whenever he has a chronic cold or heart palpitations from sudden bursts of anxiety or the wintry months, Bucky takes time off work, regardless of the backlash it’ll cause, and extra hours, will come to Steve with thick blankets and whichever medicine Steve needs, caring for him, and ignoring Steve’s protests. It always causes a twist of guilt in Steve’s gut and he always wishes he wasn’t this scrawny, sick guy that gets into all sorts of trouble and takes everyone down with him.

That’s why Steve will take any job he can get, whether it’s paper rounds or checking stock in the local store. But it isn’t enough. It never is.

Because —

He knows the stains on Bucky’s skin aren’t just from some dame he’s picked up; it’s more than that, because sometimes it isn’t girls. The bruises on his hips, the winces that hiss past his teeth as he sits down, and an emotion akin to shame lingering in his gaze whenever Steve catches it, are all blatant clues. The same has happened tonight. Steve doesn’t have to see it to know.

It’s confirmed when the front door creaks open, a staggering of footsteps echoing around the apartment. A banging sound follows, along with a hushed fuck. Steve is tempted to pretend to sleep, not wanting to face the haunting appearance Bucky has if it’s worse than the other times. He nearly accomplishes it when Bucky finds the bedroom with some struggle, flicks on the light, and just breathes, slow and uneven. But Bucky knows him remarkably well, knows that he’s been waiting up for his best friend to return home safely.

‘How’s it going, Steve?’ He lands heavily on the edge of the bed. They share now; have to in the bitter seasons. It doesn’t help Steve’s feelings for him, not one bit. ‘How’d your date go?’

He sighs and wraps the thin sheets tighter around his body. ’S’alright. Got a drink. Walked her home, just like I said I would.’

Bucky unties his boots, kicks them off along with his socks and the rest of his clothes, leaving him in nothing but his boxers and a vest. He climbs in beside Steve, but leans up against the wall, hands folded in his lap. He doesn’t smell too much like drink tonight, which is a good sign. Usually — Steve has learned – when Bucky uses his alternative way to earn reasonable pay to put dinner on the table, he’s so blind drunk that as soon as he hits the bed he’s unconscious.

‘Yeah?’ he says, his tone approving. ‘Did you kiss her?’

He sighs. ‘I did.’

‘And? What did you think?’

‘It was nice,’ Steve says around a shrug, holding back another sigh. He wants to curl into Bucky, but he can’t, he can’t. ‘I liked it.’

Bucky snorts, and nudges Steve in the side, causing him to turn over to face him; he’s close, real close — close enough that Steve can feel the light puffs of breath against his face. ‘It was nice? C’mon, Rogers, you gotta give me more than that. It can’t be that simple.’

His hands curl into fragile fists around the sheets. ‘Just was. We kissed. It wasn’t that bad. What more is there to say?’

‘I don’t know, the details?’ he says. ‘A peck? Open-mouthed? Any tongue—?’

Steve scrunches up his nose. ‘Why’d you do that, Buck?’

‘Hey.’ He holds up his hands, a smirk curling his mouth. ‘You’re the one who kissed her, Stevie. But look, if you don’t wanna spill the details, that’s fine by me. S’just you got that look on your face that’s saying you wanna tell me. So. Y’know, I’m all ears.’

Glancing down at his hands – the ones that are now wringing the bed sheets – he licks his dry lips. As soon as he opens his mouth and lets all of it gush out, he might regret it, but only a bit because he trusts Bucky with everything and Bucky never judges, but chances are he’ll reveal more than he wants to.

Like how when Steve first saw him back from fixing up a car, slicked in sweat and grease, he had inappropriate thoughts on how he’d wanted to wipe it away and kiss those dirty lips. How, from there, the forbidden desires remained, like the jealousy of knowing that other people have touched Bucky recently – touched him, fucked him, used him – and slapped a wad of dollar bills into his hands afterwards. How, in this moment, he wants nothing more than to tell Bucky how he feels, and that maybe they’d be returned, and maybe, just maybe, he’d tell him that his first kiss wasn’t supposed to be with Barbara, but with someone else entirely.

He shouldn’t, though. He hates to think that if he does tell Bucky, then he’ll think it’s disgusting, despite being as close as they are and thinking the world of each other. Having feelings for men is something else entirely. It’s not like being ill every month or getting into fights that your best friend has to sort out, but a topic that has never surfaced.

Bucky waits patiently. Steve finally takes a breath and says, ‘It didn’t feel right.’

And Bucky isn’t stupid, but maybe he knows exactly what Steve means, but chooses to make sure by talking about something slightly different first. He smiles, and claps Steve on the shoulder, and it’s so casual that his chest seizes, but he manages a shaky smile – he does that a lot, smiles when he’s sad.

‘No first kiss is gonna be magical, or perfect, unless y’know, you’re soul mates or something,’ Bucky says. ‘You gotta kiss dozens of dames before you find the one for you.’

He swallows thickly. If he does this, there is a fifty-fifty chance it’ll backfire in his face. He closes his eyes, and —

‘What if,’ he says, so quiet it’s hard to hear it himself, ‘What if it’s not dames I should be kissing, Buck?’

Then, just as he had expected, there is silence. A bone-crushing silence that squeezes into the room with the rest of the shit; the suffocating anticipation and daunting thoughts of how that would be the last thing he’d said to Bucky before he storms out the door and never looks back. He hates to think of this – hates to think that his best friend, who he’s been through thick and thin with, could possibly disown him.

Which is why his heart drops into his stomach when Bucky’s eyes widen, his mouth parting and a ghost of a breath escaping. A small wrinkle forms in his brow, and he shakes his head; no, it’s barely even a shake, but it’s still there. ‘Steve…’

And just like that, Steve closes in on himself. He spins back onto his other side, ignoring Bucky’s hey, no wait, and insistent tugging on his arm. He’s trembling, snatching up as much of the sheets as he can and bringing them up to his chin; he’s not even cold, but a chill ghosts up his spine, but there is also a hot burning in the back of his head where he knows Bucky is staring. Reaching out, he flicks off the lamp on his nightstand, blanketing them both in darkness, and without another word, closes his eyes.

He doesn’t sleep even as the hours tick by.

 

 

~

 

 

By the time there is a light dusk outside, he must’ve fallen asleep, because when he opens his eyes, Bucky isn’t beside him.

It is four in the morning on his faulty clock, and he thinks the worst when the side of Bucky’s bed is cold, but a lingering smell of sweat and cologne remains. His heart stutters in his chest and he throws off the sheets and runs out, the floor freezing against his feet. There is already nausea in his gut – a usual occurrence in his life, which Bucky would help with by preparing medicine and bread – and now it feels as if he’s going to puke.

Now that there is a possibility that Bucky has gone and done what Steve had feared, he can’t deal with it.

He skids to a halt when he sees Bucky sitting on the sofa, wide-awake with his cheek resting in his palm, looking off into space. There are cigarette butts on the floor and his fingers are slightly stained from them. The room is pitch black, apart from the slit of sunlight across his face, and maybe it would have been frightening if it weren’t for how beautiful he looks.

He’s frozen in place, especially when Bucky looks over at him, a sad smile forming on his face. It, like all the other times he’s hurt Bucky, twists something in his chest, only this time it causes a chain reaction of pain throughout his whole body. Before he can speak, Steve beats him to it.

‘Buck, about earlier, I just wanna say—’

‘You don’t have to apologize to me, Stevie,’ he murmurs, beckoning him over. ‘We don’t have to talk about it, either. But I want you to know that it wasn’t supposed to come off the way that it did. I don’t care if you don’t kiss dames; you can kiss whomever the hell you like. I just want it to be good for you.’ When Steve settles down next to him, he nudges him with his shoulder, a wry smile replacing the sad one. ‘I just want you to be happy, pal.’

Steve nods, not knowing what else to say besides, ‘Thanks, Buck.’

Then, after a pause, Bucky rushes out, ‘Can I ask you something?’ When Steve nods: ‘D’you really think a first kiss should be special? Even if they’re not your soul mate or whatever?’

He shrugs, and realizing they’re both still half-dressed, crosses his arms over his chest. ‘I thought so in the beginning, but it’s expecting too much. I mean, I’ve only kissed Barbara – I don’t have much to compare it to, so maybe that was kind of special in that it was my first. But. I guess I’m still waiting for the right one, because it isn’t about what the kiss feels like, but what it makes me feel.’

It’s truly sappy and disgustingly real. He does believe that first kiss with someone new should have some specialness towards it. In truth, Barbara was special; she was funny and pretty, and when they kissed, he did feel something stir in his stomach, but the nerves had still got the best of him. They always did. Which is why it’d only been nice. If it had lasted longer, and he’d held her close – absorbed her warmth and the flowery perfume she wore – maybe they’d have planned to see each other again. Maybe he would’ve felt the kiss on his lips for days.

Bucky is looking at him, but the smile has disappeared. He swallows hard. ‘You really think that, Steve? Each kiss has gotta mean something?’

‘Not to everybody,’ he says quietly. ‘That’s just how I feel.’

He swallows again, gaze flickering down to Steve’s mouth. The moment he does that, Steve doesn’t have a good feeling about what’ll happen next, stomach twisting uncomfortably. Bucky wets his lips. ‘Would it be alright if we test out that theory?’

Steve wonders if he heard him right, several seconds ticking by before he blurts out, ‘What?’

Bucky isn’t deterred by Steve’s surprise, turning towards him until their knees are touching. It sends a spark of heat throughout his body, but he doesn’t move away, despite knowing that he should. ‘Just wonderin’ if what you say is true – what better way than to try it out, y’know? Might as well kiss as many people as you can, right?’

‘But before—’

‘Before,’ Bucky says. ‘Before I was being stupid. You just surprised me s’all.’

Steve is dangerously close to being persuaded, why wouldn’t he turn down the offer? He has been thinking of this since he was a kid, both night and day; it can be the sole opportunity to know what it is like.

But Bucky is too good for him. He always needs to impress and make Steve happy. It can’t make Steve happy, not really, as this wouldn’t be real; it’d be fake and something they’d do and forget about in the morning. The conflict is suffocating, twining around his lungs like thorny vines, puncturing holes, and so unrelenting Steve can’t compare it to his worst asthma attacks. But it would just be a kiss. If he does this, maybe it’ll confirm that these silly little feelings are a phase and he’ll move on. All it will take is a kiss, just a single kiss.

‘Why’re you doing this?’

Bucky just shrugs. ‘I just gotta know.’

After a painful pause, Steve nods. Bucky replies with a small smile before leaning forward, placing his hands on either side of the couch so he brackets Steve in. Just like that, the ball of nerves swells, a cold sweat breaking out on the length of his back. His breathing escalates, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Bucky follows the movement.

Then, Bucky reaches up to brush the strands of hair that had fallen into Steve’s eyes, his hand lingering there. ‘D’you want me to kiss you, or d’you you wanna kiss me?’

He feels naked like this in his skimpy shorts and thin vest, skin touching skin. Up close, Bucky’s eyes are incredibly blue – though it isn’t as if he hasn’t noticed before – but when they’re hooded and gazing down at him with expectation, it makes the whole circumstance even more terrifying. When he shivers, Bucky moves closer, his body heat washing over Steve like a tidal wave, crashing and dizzying, and he chokes out a meek reply of, ‘I don’t mind.’

‘You got no idea how glad I am,’ he says, surging forward until their lips are pressed together. It isn’t what he expected, with such a raw and almost desperate need. Bucky doesn’t push him to do anything he doesn’t want to, leaving Steve to do the leading, so slowly, he runs a hand through Bucky’s hair, the other coming to rest on his scratchy jaw, covered in a five o’clock shadow. And it’s there, the feeling of specialness. It isn’t like fireworks, or a realization, but the simple feeling of being relaxed; the tension he’d felt before seeps out of his pores, replaced by a welcomed warmth and comfort. Bucky must feel the same as he pulls back, ‘Please tell me it wasn’t just me who felt that.’

Steve nods. ‘Wasn’t just you.’

‘You wanna try that again?’

He doesn’t even think as he lets out a quick, ‘Yeah.’

And then they’re kissing again, not a lot more than before, only a curious exploration of each other’s lips. Bucky’s hands fall to rest on Steve’s waist, pulling him closer, and carefully (oh so very careful), runs the tip of his tongue over his lips, and—

Steve just parts his mouth and lets him in. It tastes of bitter smoke from when Bucky had a morning cigarette out the window, bad breath, and stale, cheap coffee, but it doesn’t matter because Steve is kissing him and it’s all that he’s thought about for several years. Tentatively, he wraps his hand around the back of Bucky’s neck, stroking the coarse strands of hair at his nape. His harsh breaths turn into ragged, choked moans when Bucky fists his hands in Steve’s vest and hauls him even closer and gently bites down on Steve’s bottom lip.

He hopes this isn’t a dream, that he is actually sleeping and never came looking for Bucky. If it were, then Steve probably wouldn’t have the guts to do this. When it comes to his best friend, to showing how he feels through a basic kiss, it’s like standing on the edge of the cliff, wondering if he’ll make it to the other side. There’s a clutch of fear, clawing his insides and holding on for dear life, but he’ll still take the risk, even if those claws rip out his heart and stamp down on it, leaving nothing but a crushed hope to rely on.

When Bucky pulls back, mouth swollen, and murmurs—‘Why’d you never tell me this before, Steve? Would’ve kissed you then and forever after’—Steve thinks his heart might just burst out of his chest for a whole different reason.

‘Maybe I wouldn’t wanna kiss a jerk like you.’

‘You’re kissing me now, punk.’

His fingers stroke over the stubble on Bucky’s chin. ‘Guess I could make an exception.’

‘Yeah?’ Bucky says, and that wry smile has returned. ‘Even if it were more than just a kiss?’

Steve frowns, licking over his spit-slick lips and adjusting himself on Bucky’s lap – he hadn’t even noticed he’d crawled on him, but hey, it’s much more comfortable. ‘You can’t mean that.’

He lets out a laugh, a lighthearted sound that hits Steve straight in the chest. ‘Why the hell not?’

Dropping his gaze down, he shrugs. ‘Cause boys don’t kiss boys, let alone do anything more. You know what the guys say at the bar, right? What they say about queers—’ he starts to spit the word out, but stops. ‘What they say about people like me.’

‘What the hell these guys saying Steve? I’ll kick their asses.’ He shakes his head, huffing out an irritated sound, but composes himself because getting angry isn’t going to change anything. ‘Those punks ain’t here, are they? Just you and me. But I want you to know that if you don’t wanna, I won’t hold it against you.’

Steve pauses before finally finding his voice again. The words still stick in his mouth though, in his tightly closed throat and past the heavy breaths. God, Bucky wants to do more with him, actually wants to, but not if— ‘You won’t be doing it ‘cause you feel bad for me, ‘cause I don’t need it, Buck. Don’t need anybody feeling pity for me, okay? I can take care of myself.’

‘I know, Steve. I’m doing it cause I want to.’

He closes the distance again, kissing Bucky for all he is worth, hot and furious. He fists Bucky’s hair, messing it up, sticking it up in all directions. A groan rumbles through his chest when Bucky lifts both their tops off in less than a second, replacing the nip of cold with his warm hands running over every inch of his skin. It burns, his touches leaving a scalding trail along his back, his hips and stomach – this is really happening, once a dream he’d never thought possible of coming true. He drops his head back for Bucky to pepper kisses down his neck, stopping often to suck bruises into his skin.

He’s painfully hard, and what only fuels his arousal is to find that Bucky is, too; against his thigh, Steve can feel him, heavy and straining, and when Steve reaches out, slowly, and runs a single finger along the length, Bucky flinches, his breath hitching in his throat. Encouraged, Steve places his palm flat on him, squeezing lightly.

With shaky fingers, Steve finds the zip of Bucky’s trousers – with two failed attempts – and tugs it down. He’s aware of so much that he has to take a few moments to gain his balance and ward off the dizzy sensation. They’re both breathing heavily, the stubble on Bucky’s jaw scratching across his skin and giving him beard burn. Sweat is beginning to dampen his back, sticking to his shirt. Bucky is the same, trembling with what Steve hopes is want, huffed pants harsh between his clenched teeth.

When Steve gains enough balls (not literally, yet), and slips a hand into Bucky’s boxers, he’s rewarded with a hiss. ‘Fuck, Steve, yeah. Just—’ He thrusts up into Steve’s hand when he tightens his grip, feeling his cheeks heat up. ‘Fuck…’

The sounds of the breathy moans that follow cause another wave of arousal to wash over Steve; a tsunami, slamming into him. He focuses on twisting his wrist on the upstroke, like he would to himself, and running his thumb over the tip. But when Bucky stops him, his heart sinks. Bucky notices, quickly smacking a wet kiss onto his lips, and with a smirk, says, ‘Hey, no, I don’t want you to stop, no way. You just gotta – it’s too dry, is all.’

‘Oh, do you have any stuff?’ He blushes. ‘I doubt you do, forget I asked.’

‘I do,’ he says, a sheepish smile on his face. ‘Always had it in case, y’know.’

‘You’ve really waited that long?’

Bucky nods. ‘Course I have, Stevie. Ever since I laid eyes on you.’

Biting down on his lip, he smirks. ‘What – so when we were little kids? You sure about that?’

‘Well, maybe not as soon as I saw you, but a little bit later. I can remember when.’ He reaches into the bedside table, pulling out Vaseline. ‘It was after one of your fights, the night of your thirteenth birthday. You thought you could take on two guys.’

It isn’t the conversation that fits the moment, what with Steve’s hand down Bucky’s pants and rubbing against his erection, but he listens.

‘Thought you had something to prove,’ Bucky continues. ‘Still do now, don’t you? Stubborn little punk, standing there with your clothes torn and a split lip, blood on your knuckles. You were so beat up, but I couldn’t stop looking at you like you were my whole world. You are my whole world.’

‘Buck—’

‘You are,’ he says, leaning up to kiss him, a light peck. He smirks. ‘You don’t have to prove you’re tough to me, to anyone, cause you’re tougher than anyone I know. Bet you could handle anything.’

Steve doesn’t waste time in stripping their remaining clothes off, planting hard kisses on Bucky’s neck. He wraps his hand back around him, and strokes once, earning another groan, badly suppressed and sexy. It’s sweltering in the cold room, but Steve feels oddly used to it, and instead pulls back enough to take another breath and murmur:

‘You want to test out that theory of yours?’

 

 

~

 

 

It takes seconds for Steve to yank off the rest of their clothes, tossing the suspenders and creased shirts over his shoulder. Though a layer of goose bumps rise on his skin, he’s almost feverishly hot.

He slicks up his fingers with Vaseline, warming it up, and goes to reach behind—

‘No,’ Bucky says, grabbing his wrist. ‘Can I?’

‘You want to do it?’ Steve asks, a brief thought flitting over his mind of how the Vaseline was supposed to be for getting Bucky off, but somehow that had taken a different path; he wants this, needs Bucky’s hands on his hips bringing them together. ‘I mean, you can. I just thought you’d rather not.’

Bucky blinks – real slow, as if it is incredibly hard to process what Steve had just said. ‘I want to fuck you, and you think I don’t wanna make you ready for it?’

‘Well, yeah.’

‘Are you ready for it? I won’t do anything you don’t wanna do.’

Steve cups Bucky’s cheeks. He does want to do it, and not because he’s nineteen and a virgin, but because he wants Bucky. ‘I want to. I so, absolutely want to. Unless you don’t, then we might have to hurry up. We’ve got work in—’

Silencing him with a kiss, Bucky takes the pot of Vaseline from Steve, slicking up his own fingers. Then – still managing to kiss him and leave him breathless – he opens Steve up, slowly, with one finger and then two, just about sliding in a third before Steve burns with the stretch and he’s rocking into the shallow thrusts. A blush has spread over his chest, heaving with gasps.

Once Steve is close, close to losing it and begging, Bucky eases him onto his back. He lifts Steve’s legs to wrap around his waist, and leans down to steal yet another kiss. And then he’s pressing into Steve, an inch at a time, causing a stinging sensation and heady burn, lighting up every nerve in his body. Steve coughs on a breath, tight in his chest, but forces himself to steady it out, tries to savor the experience of doing this for the first time. Sweat drips from Bucky’s hairline, and he tastes the salt on his lips.

Bucky places one hand beside Steve’s head, the other twisted in his hair, nipping down the length of his exposed neck. His drives turn hard, yet an underline of caution remains, like putting any more strength in would break Steve. He can handle this, can handle anything Bucky throws at him, even if it results in bruises on his skin, and an hour afterwards to catch his breath and slow his pulse.

His thighs tense when Bucky slows down his pace even further, and he strains to say, ‘Not going to break, Buck – c’mon, show me what you’ve got.’

It’s all Bucky needs to thrust harder, faster, his hands clinging to Steve’s hips. He hitches Steve’s legs higher up his back, his movements now sloppy and uncoordinated, breaths hitching as they force their way past his clenched lips. His face is red and his slicked back hair is flopping in front of his eyes.

And with a final, jolting drive, he shouts Steve’s name.

Steve strokes himself in time with Bucky’s slowing thrusts, before following with a choked cry. It rips up his throat, as if swallowing a bunch of razors, but the scratchy dry feeling and hoarse sounds that make it hurt more are worth it. It’s worth it, so worth it, for the way Bucky strokes a hand down Steve’s face, finally kissing him again with an affection touch that would never happen after sex. It feels so much more intimate than what they’d just done – out of it all, the basic art of kissing is what he can’t stop thinking about.

Not even with Steve.

He rolls out from under Bucky, hissing as the sensation of being full leaves him. He runs from the bed and grabs some tissue from the bathroom, halfheartedly wiping them clean. In the end, from the drain of energy, he flops back down onto the bed. Bucky slings an arm over Steve’s chest, but nothing more. It’s okay, because it’s still as close as he’s ever felt.

And has never made him feel so accepted.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

The next day he thinks Bucky has gone again, the cold seeping into the sheets beside him.

Has a terrible feeling that last night might’ve been a mistake, and —

He feels a warm mug being placed into his hands; coffee, black and strong, along with a piece of buttered bread. Bucky is there, dressed in only his pants again, his hair mussed and exhaustion his eyes, but the slight twitching in the corner of his mouth is all he needs for reassurance.

Sitting on the side of the bed, he strangely doesn’t touch Steve. He bites his lip, and meets Steve’s eyes. ‘Where do we go from here?’

‘I was kind of hoping we’d do this more.’ Steve frowns. ‘Don’t you want to?’

It’s an uncommon exposure of feelings, what with being afraid to do so hours before, but once baring his vulnerabilities – that might not have been verbal, but shown in all different sorts of ways – the bravery had finally come forward. He should have found it easier to do, with the courage to put himself on the line and fall into danger each day, but not when it is a fragile, personal piece of him.

‘Yeah, Steve, of course I do. Don’t think that I’d think any different.’

‘Then what is it?’

‘I—’ He sighs, and when Steve rests a hand on his own, he says, ‘Last night, I was gonna sleep with someone, service them. For a measly forty bucks. I hate it, hate that I’ll take anything just to keep us warm at night or pay for the damn water.’ He looks down, and he laughs – no, it’s not that. It’s too harsh to be that. ‘It’s so pathetic, and I’m sorry, Stevie. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you.’

Steve mimics the sigh. ‘I knew, Bucky.’

‘You—’

‘I knew,’ he says again, cutting him off before Bucky falls down into a darkness that’ll take so long to dig him out. ‘I know what you do, and as much as I shouldn’t be against it, I am. But that’s unfair, and I’ve got no right to decide how you live your life.’

Bucky stares at him for a while, his mouth parted and with what Steve hates to think is tears in his eyes, reddening and raw. Steve can only grab his hand and hold on, rubbing his thumb over the rough skin of Bucky’s as he waits. He waits and waits until the coffee has gone cold and the bread hard, because it isn’t what is important right now – Bucky matters, only him.

Finally, as Bucky visibly swallows, he gasps out, ‘You’re too good, Steve. Way too good for a wreck like me.’

‘You’re not a wreck—’

‘I’m gonna stop doing it. As of now, it stops.’

‘Don’t do this because you think you have to—’

Bucky tightens his hand around Steve’s. ‘I have to. I never liked it. It was sex and feeling used, a need rather than a want. When I kissed you last night, I felt it in my gut, all that stuff about being soul mates.’ He sighs. ‘Maybe we’re not soul mates, or they don’t exist, but we’re damn near close.’

‘What’re you saying, Buck?’

He manages a smile, and it’s like a ray of light in a dark room, blinding and beautiful. ‘You’re all I need, Steve. No money or whiskey. Just you.’

And then he kisses Steve, no passion or unbearable need, but a slow press of lips. It isn’t a hint of wanting sex, or anything sexual, but it sure is an implication of what can happen in the future.

 

 

~

 

 

Steve is nineteen when he has his second kiss.

His second kiss with Bucky.

And eventually, it is his last.


End file.
